


Time on Our Hands (the place in our hearts where we hide)

by kerithwyn



Series: Quantum Entanglements [16]
Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-24 21:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More of the same, and talking too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time on Our Hands (the place in our hearts where we hide)

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Quantum Entanglements series, follows "Culmination". Canon continues to be on vacation.
> 
> Thanks to samjohnsson for beta and validation. :)

It's been a long time since Olivia's woken up in a lover's arms. Her body feels pleasantly achy, inner muscles stretched in an agreeable way.

The "in his arms" part is more a figure of speech than a reflection of reality; Lincoln sprawls in his sleep, arms and legs pointing off in every direction, his pillow tossed to the floor. She runs a finger along his jawline, touches his mouth, and his lips purse in a kiss against her hand. "Hi," Lincoln murmurs without opening his eyes.

It makes Olivia wonder, briefly, how many times Lincoln has woken up to a touch on his skin, from a new someone he's just slept with. The thought doesn't disturb her at all. This world is full of too many hazards for moral absolutes, and she's a visitor here without room to judge. More important this time they both chose each other, with full awareness, and the past is finally past. "Morning."

Lincoln scoots over, eyes still closed, and pulls her close. "You know what? It feels like a good day to play hooky." His hand runs down her side, just short of tickling. "You feel good."

"Mmm. Lincoln, you know what I'd really like?" Olivia pitches her voice low, going for sexy, and has a wry fleeting thought that Liv would be much better at this. "You know what would really *satisfy* me this morning?" She shifts closer, feeling him hard against her, and nearly relents.

But no, she's set her course and will see it through. "Pancakes."

Lincoln's eyes fly open. "Olivia Dunham," he says, his tone a blend of surprise, amusement, and affection. She waits for the follow-up but he kisses her instead, grinding briefly against her thigh before he vaults out of bed. "Your wish, etc. Breakfast. Let's go!"

She laughs and follows, collecting yesterday's (no, the day before's) clothes. They jostle for bathroom space, constantly stepping on each other's toes, until Olivia steps back and watches Lincoln do his hair with proper reverence.

"That's...quite a procedure," she says, aiming for ingenuousness, when he's done.

"You're mocking me. I can tell," Lincoln says mournfully. "Liv does too. You two just don't appreciate the struggles of those of us not born with perfect hair."

He mentions her double casually and possibly for the first time, Olivia doesn't feel her hackles go up at the reference to their similarity. "Well, the result is worth it," she offers.

"Annnd now you're humoring me." Lincoln heaves a huge sigh. "Let's go find that breakfast."

They walk over to the same diner of the previous morning, and Olivia does order the pancakes. They're really damn good, she agrees.

"I wasn't kidding," Lincoln says around his omelet, "about playing hooky. Fringe events here have slowed back down to manageable levels, and the techs are going to be brainstorming their next big idea for a few days. Charlie and Liv can handle things. Besides," he grins, "there's gotta be a benefit to being the boss, right?"

Olivia nods, thinking of her caseload, which tends to veer between tedious paperwork and moments of extreme terror. "I'd love to. Especially if you spend a day or two with me in my world. It'd only be fair," she says wryly, smiling to take the irony out of it. "I could bring you by the lab. You could meet our Lincoln."

"Huh," he says, an odd look on his face.

"What?"

"I wonder if he's..." Lincoln swallows a gulp of juice, shakes his head. "Never mind."

Olivia thinks about it for a minute and then her face flames up as she translates his expression. "Lincoln Lee, you were not thinking about...!"

God, she can't even say it. The half-embarrassed, half-intrigued look on his face is answer enough. He coughs into a napkin, trying to cover too late. "Uh, no. Not at all. Nope."

"Narcissist," she accuses, but she's laughing because he's so ridiculous and also, why wouldn't he be?

"It was just a random thought!" he protests. "No court would convict."

Olivia tries to look stern, but it's impossible in the face of his absurdity. "I have to work with him, so don't scare him."

Lincoln looks thoughtful. "I doubt he's as delicate as you think. But I'll behave."

They finish up and head back to Lincoln's apartment so he can throw some clothes in a bag and then make a quick stop at Fringe Division headquarters, where Lincoln officially signs out. Charlie's back at his desk and Lincoln waves him down. "Sneaking out before anything comes down. If you need me--"

"Eh, you're not that important," Charlie says, and nods over to her. "Hey, Olivia."

"Hey, Charlie," she replies, smiling, while Lincoln sputters. "I heard you got married. Congratulations."

"Thanks," he says, grinning like the newlywed he is. "And hey, thank your Astrid for those files. The medtechs are working on a new serum to kill the bugs, they say it's starting to look good."

"What's Mrs. Bug Lady gonna think about that?" Lincoln asks, tone edged with sarcasm, but when Olivia looks into his face she sees nothing but fondness and hope for his friend.

Charlie just smirks at him. "Turns out Mona's got other interests, too. Crazy, right?"

"No accounting for taste," Lincoln shoots back, but he's smiling. "Hold down the fort, all right?"

"You got it." It's almost the same exchange they had on the bridge, but there's no 'sir' this time, Olivia notes. Charlie adds in her direction, "Don't let him wander off. He gets distracted easy and then you have to chase him down."

"I promise," Olivia says solemnly, and Charlie looks like he's about to say something else before he changes his mind. He waves them off and Lincoln takes one last look around at the relative quiet of the monitor boards before they go.

Thanks to Lincoln's ability to command fast transport not available to the general public, the journey to Liberty Island passes quickly. On the way, they play a game of "What's Different." They've both made the trip enough times to know the terrain by heart, and Lincoln skips over the amber dots on the landscape to keep the mood light. Lincoln's badge and rank get them through the heightened security with a minimum of questions, and they pass through the bridge room and by the humming machine without incident.

They walk out of the complex in her world and Lincoln stops short, staring across the water with a stricken look.

Olivia's gotten so used to the sight--or more accurately, the absence of the sight--that she's forgotten how hard first-time visitors take the loss of the iconic towers on the skyline.

"I read this in the briefings," Lincoln murmurs, sounding overwhelmed. "In-- in my world they hit the White House."

"I know." The losses had been much fewer on the other side. "It's still hard to believe, sometimes."

"I'm looking and I don't believe it. Olivia..." Lincoln looks at her, beseeching. "I know it's probably not what you had planned, but can we go over there?"

She hasn't yet gone to the memorial site, thinking vaguely that she was waiting to take Ella, to explain about buildings her niece had never known. But Lincoln's distress is immediate and requires an answer.

They take the ferry over to Battery Park and walk up the few blocks to the site. Lincoln keeps looking around and up, like he's still trying to see the towers as they stand in his world, until Olivia nudges him.

He throws her a rueful look. "I'm gawking like a tourist."

Olivia smiles slightly, her expression tempered by their surroundings, and takes his hand as they walk onto the site. Her badge trumps a visitor's pass and they pass under the canopy of trees to take in the twin waterfalls and the bronze plaques, etched with names.

She touches Lincoln's shoulder and motions that she's going to meander a bit. Each person who comes here needs the chance to absorb this site on their own terms, in their own way. Olivia's emotions are still a tangle, mingled anger and acceptance and resignation to the fact that no memorial, no matter how well designed, will ever reflect the truth.

Olivia watches Lincoln as he circles one of the waterfalls, mindful of Charlie's words and her responsibility to keep an eye on all visitors from the other universe. But it's not long before Lincoln finds her side again, blinking suspiciously fast but otherwise composed. "It's still unreal. I can't imagine what that day--"

She cuts him off, because she doesn't want to relive it. "I'm glad--honestly, I am--this didn't happen on your side." She stares at the towers every time she's there, drinking in the sight photographs and memory can't match.

But no, frankly this isn't what she'd planned, and she's acutely aware of how limited their time together is. Especially standing here, in the shadow of no towers. "Ready to go?"

Lincoln nods and this time he's the one who reaches for her hand, as they head back down to collect her car.

The first thing they do before getting on the road is stop for coffee, giant cups from a drive-through for both of them. Olivia drinks quickly to stave off an incipient caffeine-deprivation headache; Lincoln savors his, something like bliss crossing his face with every sip. "Your side is ruining me. I'm going to go through withdrawal all over again."

"I can send you back with a stash," she offers.

Lincoln's got his thinky face on. "You know, we probably ought to start thinking about protocols for transferring materials between your world and mine. As tempting as the coffee sounds...it'd be awkward if I was asked questions about where I got it."

"That's...a really good idea," Olivia says, wincing because she's afraid her comment sounds condescending when she doesn't mean it that way at all. It *is* a good idea, and not something she'd considered; Astrid usually handles all the logistics.

But Lincoln doesn't seem to notice, so maybe her tone wasn't as off as she'd thought. "I've got stacks of virtual memos, recommendations from everyone who thinks they deserve an opinion. Some of them stuck."

The reverse journey up to Boston sparks more of the comparison game, and when that wears thin, the conversation veers into more personal topics.

"First real boyfriend?"

The first is nearly the end of the list, Olivia thinks ruefully, but answers anyway. "Lucas, when I was in the military. That...didn't end so well. I dated a little in college, nothing serious, until I met John at the Bureau."

"You were engaged to him," Lincoln says gently, and that's a detail he must've gotten out of Liv because she doesn't remember mentioning it and it's certainly not in any file. "I'm very sorry."

"Yeah. He-- " she sighs. "I don't know. Everything looks different in retrospect. But I was happy, while we were together. That's the part worth holding on to."

"It really is. I'm glad you-- I'm glad you have that." It sounds like there's a story there, but Lincoln goes on in a reflective, unselfconscious voice, "First boyfriend was Danny. We didn't know what the hell we were doing, but it was fun trying to figure it out. First girlfriend was..." he laughs. "Laurie. She was tutoring me in math, and then other things. Cliché, right?" Lincoln glances over at her, sly smile on his lips. "You?"

She laughs. "No."

Lincoln nods, grinning. "Didn't think so. Liv would have told me about college lesbian shenanigans. I think." He pauses. "Not that your experiences would have been identical, but--"

"But some things probably remain true across universes," Olivia agrees, and suddenly it occurs to her that maybe she should have a conversation with Astrid about Lee. Not a warning, just...potential information.

Entertaining as the discussion is, she's had enough of driving by the end of the trip. Teleportation between cities in her own world, Olivia thinks, would be far more useful than the half-cooked abilities she's developed.

The day's getting on so they don't stop by the lab, after all. Olivia does swing the car by the Federal Building to tell Broyles she's on vacation-- no ifs, ands, or buts--while Lincoln waits outside his office, smiling politely to the other agents' curious looks. Broyles raises an eyebrow at her, but agrees without argument when Olivia notes she hasn't had a real holiday in three years. He doesn't question Lincoln's presence either, even though her visitor is obviously not on a case, and Olivia wonders just how much he knows.

"Dunham," he says, as she's about to leave his office. "Be careful."

She glances back to find a hint of understanding in his stern eyes, a suggestion of support on his mouth. "I...will, sir. Thank you."

The pancakes were a long time ago and Olivia can't imagine there's anything really edible left in her fridge, so they stop for dinner at her favorite Indian restaurant, the one on her speed dial. Despite the frequency of her orders she's actually only been here in person a handful of times, and is pleased to find it neat, clean, and a perfectly acceptable place to bring a date.

If Lincoln's a "date." Somehow, none of the definitions really fit. But Olivia's determined not to worry about quantifying this, whatever this is. They eat mostly in silence, smiling over the table at each other, feet touching underneath.

By the end of the meal all Olivia wants is to be home, but on the way she realizes they need to stop at a grocery for necessities. She and Lincoln make fools of themselves in the pharmacy department, a required stop since all of Olivia's contingencies are ancient.

"So what do you think? Super huge? Equipment of unusual size?"

Lincoln shakes his head, demurring with modesty. "I know my limitations. Charlie, on the other hand...."

They both crack up to the amusement of an older lady passing by. Olivia is inordinately delighted to see that she's smiling at overhearing them, seeming entertained by their inappropriateness rather than glaring with clichéd outrage. It feels like a good omen, like the universe approves.

She's throwing random foodstuff in the basket when Lincoln says, "I'm getting pretty tired of restaurants and takeout. You want to pick up something for dinner tomorrow? I can cook."

She turns to look at him, astonished. "I don't remember that."

Lincoln shrugs, like the fact hardly bears mentioning. "There usually isn't time or opportunity, at home. But my mom taught me, and I like doing it."

Olivia nearly says "marry me" before she bites down on her lip. Instead she settles for, "That'd be perfect."

"So what would you like?"

"Oh," she says, flustered. "Visiting chef's choice. Surprise me."

Lincoln eyes her, then thinks a moment and nods. "Follow." She does, amused by his imperious tone. She watches as he collects vegetables, herbs, spices--she'd warned him that her cupboards were bare--and a large aluminum pan. Finally, he leads her to the meat department. She'd been determined to agree with anything he brought back but is secretly relieved when he returns to the cart holding a bulky package.

"Roast chicken," he says. "Mom always says it's the true test of a cook, along with the ability to make the perfect omelet." Her nose crinkles reflexively, and Lincoln sighs. "Not eggs, either? I've noticed the way you eat. Or don't eat."

"I ate yesterday!" she protests. "All that Chinese! And two real meals today."

"Because I *fed* you," Lincoln retorts, smiling. "Seriously, Olivia."

She just shakes her head at him because there's no arguing, really. They approach the check out and Lincoln stops mid-step. "You grabbed the ticket at the restaurant too fast for me to remember I have no money here. I am *penniless.*"

"I've got it covered. Besides, I wanted to return the favor from yesterday." The cart is full of more groceries than she might ordinarily buy in two months but her monthly bills barely dent her paycheck, and she's not much of a shopper.

The checkout girl gives Lincoln the onceover. So does the bag boy two rows down. Olivia watches them watch him, entertained. "I need to get you off the streets before you start a riot."

Lincoln's voice is warm and full of promise when he leans over to whisper in her ear. "All my interdimensional cooties are yours."

Olivia starts to laugh, helplessly, to the open astonishment of the checkout girl who's probably seen her dozens of times and never, ever seen more cheer on Olivia's face than a polite smile. She's still giggling all the way to the car, and home.

Her apartment is just different enough from Liv's version, without Frank's stuff, to avoid double vision for either of them. Lincoln helps her unpack the groceries and finally, glasses of wine in hand, Olivia pulls him into her bedroom.

They get naked and curl up in bed but this time, there's no rush or need to hurry. All the frantic urgency of the day before has given way to something more deliberate, something she wants to savor.

Olivia pillows her head on Lincoln's chest, breathing in his warmth. "What are we doing?" she muses, not really meaning to say it aloud.

His hand strokes idly down her hair. "Being happy while we can."

Astonishing, it's just as simple as that. "...yes."

After a few blissful moments the imp of the perverse makes her prop herself up on an elbow to voice the question she hasn't had the nerve or desire to articulate before now.

"So are we really identical?" Olivia asks softly, knowing the answer no longer matters. He's here, with her, and there's no confusion.

Lincoln takes a breath, looking uncertain, and Olivia suddenly remembers that he's a few years younger than she is. "Sure you want to know? I'll tell you if you really want."

"Tell me," she says, and settles in to listen, watching his face.

"Well...Liv is...a little more toned," he starts, checking her eyes to make sure she's not angry. Olivia smiles, nodding for him to go on. "She spends a lot of time at the gym with Frank. He's really built."

Olivia laughs. "He wasn't around very long when I was in her shoes. I always wondered...."

"Liv never has any complaint," Lincoln says wryly. "But when you were with us, Charlie and I thought-- well, we thought Liv had been on bed rest and an IV drip for weeks, so that explained the difference."

"Makes sense."

Lincoln grins, his face lighting up. "You know what else makes sense?"

She can smell a diversion coming--he's nowhere as subtle as he thinks he is--but she's feeling too content not to play along. "Hmm?"

His hand wanders down her body, stroking, his fingers delving between her legs. His touch is gentle and Olivia shifts a little, granting access. He rubs at her in just the right way and as her breathing quickens, Lincoln brings his hand up to lick his fingers. "You taste different."

"You...say that to all the girls?" Olivia tries, but she's watching his tongue flutter and it's impossible to concentrate. "Maybe you..."

"Need a better sample, I agree," Lincoln smiles, eyes full of mischief. He slides down, spreading her open in front of him, holding her gaze. "I think it's the variations between your world and mine." He leans in and licks a broad stripe up the center of her, firm and wet, and Olivia moans with the sudden spike of pleasure that lights up her whole body. "Exotic. I like it."

Olivia curls her leg around the small of his back, pressing him closer. "Like it some more."

Lincoln laughs and does, taking her apart with sure strokes of his tongue. He doesn't rush, no matter how much she squirms in the sheets or thrusts up against his mouth, and by the end Olivia's hands are gripping the headboard and the sounds coming out of her mouth are primal, raw with need. When his fingers slide into her, she's so wet the pressure barely registers until the combined sensation tips her over into a climax so strong she shakes with it for long moments afterward.

Lincoln's shaking, too, as he reaches over to break open the new package, sending condoms spilling everywhere. Olivia revives enough to help, rolling one onto him while they kiss, and despite his delayed satisfaction he's still gentle as he slips into her. They rock together, Lincoln mouthing at her breasts until the tight spiral of her desire starts to build again.

By now Lincoln's starting to look a little desperate, so she urges him on. He thrusts once, less politely, and again to her approving moan. Their rhythm becomes less steady, more frenetic, and her headboard is actually knocking against the wall in a way Olivia thought only happened in movies. The neighbors can just...suck it, she thinks, before thinking becomes impossible.

There's no space left between them, all she can breathe is him. She's cresting again and Lincoln's going with her, his eyes locked on hers. Her hands clutch at his back, slick with sweat, and they strain together toward the final peak. When Olivia comes she really does see stars, bright explosions behind her eyelids, and then Lincoln shudders in her arms and collapses onto her, breathing hard.

"...move in a sec," he mumbles, only partly coherent, but Olivia doesn't mind; he's not so heavy that she feels like she's being squashed, and she doesn't want to lose the feel of him, not yet.

Eventually, sticky and a little bit sore (but only a little, a twinge that she'll cherish), Olivia manages to get them sorted out and mopped up enough for comfort.

Lincoln's already drifting toward unconsciousness and Olivia's soon to follow. "Cooties," she whispers, and chuckles her way into sleep.

***

Olivia wakes first again--her sleep patterns have been so disrupted over the past three years that it's rare she sleeps a night through. She turns her head to see Lincoln in his already-familiar posture, limbs stretching across the bed. His fingers are brushing her arm, keeping contact even in sleep. He looks...absurdly young like this, unguarded even compared to his usual demeanor.

And very appealing. Olivia shifts carefully, drawing the sheet back to discover that part of him, at least, is very awake. There are still things she remembers from her sojourn in her double's life, and among them is a confidence Olivia had forgotten in the years since John.

She slides down and licks at the crease between his thigh and groin, getting his scent and taste, before she takes him in, remembering to watch her teeth.

Lincoln breathes in, sharply, and his hand comes down to stroke at her hair. "That's-- good morning to you, too."

He should know better than to make her laugh right now, honestly. Olivia backs off for a second and then tries again, drawing on all her own and borrowed memories. She's not...practiced at this, but that doesn't seem to matter by the way Lincoln's hand moves deliberately away from her head to clutch at the bed sheet.

Remembering their first day she sends one hand questing, finding the half-squashed bottle from yesterday, and manages to slick her fingers. She touches his entrance gently, then presses in, thankful she keeps her fingernails short as a matter of habit.

There's a hitch in Lincoln's breath and he groans, pushing against her hand. "Olivia. *God.* Don't-- don't stop."

She has no intention of stopping. Lincoln is responsive under her mouth and hands, telling her with moans and tiny approving movements when her tongue finds a right spot. Although everywhere she touches seems to be the right spot, with him, and faster than she would have thought he's trying to *warn* her of his impending climax, how ridiculous. Olivia sucks harder, crooks her fingers, and--chokes a little as he comes but recovers fast, staying with him through the aftershocks.

She crawls back up to snuggle under his arm. Lincoln's hand flops around aimlessly before landing on her hip, stroking gently. "I'm, uh, gonna need a minute or six before I'm of any use to you."

Olivia laughs--she hasn't laughed this much in forever--and burrows in closer. "I think I still owe you a few. If we're keeping score."

"I wasn't. But anytime, you know, feel free...." Lincoln waves vaguely with his other hand. "You'd tell me, right? If there's anything you really want? I promise, you can't shock me."

She swallows hard because he's already-- he's already given her so much. "Is that a challenge?"

Olivia can feel him smirk even without seeing his face. "Try me, sweetheart."

...that word again, just like when Liv used it (in a more mocking tone, granted), evokes the vaguest sense of a memory she can't place. Unsettled, Olivia shifts to dispel the notion and props herself up to look at him. "Let me think about it. Is there anything you want to do today? I mean," she says quickly as his smirk gets wider, "aside from more of the same."

"As much as I enjoy being here with you...." Lincoln kisses her shoulder. "I'm getting bedface. Show me your world."

She laughs because his bedface is very, very cute. But it's a good idea. "What would you like to see?"

He looks thoughtful for a moment. "You have a zoo around here? I used to love walking around the zoo." He perks up. "You have to buy me ice cream. And then we'll come back and I'll make dinner."

"Sure, there's Franklin Park. The seasonal exhibits are probably closed by now, but it's still nice." The last time she'd gone had been with Ella and Rachel, and back when she'd thought they'd be staying in Boston Olivia had bought a membership. She hadn't been there since, though.

"Sounds great. So shower, breakfast, zoo?"

"Coffee," Olivia groans, and rolls out of bed to start the pot with the sound of Lincoln's laughter following her to the kitchen.

They make a random breakfast out of yesterday's plunder--fruit, cheese, toast, and of course enough coffee to replenish the caffeine in Olivia's bloodstream. Lincoln is easing off on the stuff, she notes, plainly not wanting to regain an addiction he can't satisfy in his world.

The day outside is chill and gray clouds are hanging low, threatening rain. Lincoln frowns at them. "Okay, maybe we skip the ice cream."

"I'm sure there'll be some stale popcorn available," Olivia reassures him. She's not sure how far they'll get, considering the dismal weather report she sees when she finally thinks to check her phone, but she's willing to give it a try.

When they arrive just past opening the zoo feels deserted, and even the animals are hiding from the impending downpour. It turns out to be too cold for the giraffes to be out, and those animals that are still on display seem to make Lincoln more pensive than anything.

She's about to ask when he says quietly, "We've lost so many," and Olivia understands. Sorting through her memory she recalls that most of the zoos on the other side have closed, most due to underfunding as money shifted to fight the vortexes, others because so many of their species had gone extinct.

But he glances over at her and smiles, his mood lifting just as fast as it had fallen. "I'm still glad to see them."

"I wish," Olivia starts, and that's when the sky opens up. "Aaa! There's shelter just ahead."

They sprint for the tropical forest pavilion and make their way dripping through the structure, pausing to watch the gorillas and trying to catch sight of the shy ocelot. They backtrack to stand longest at the first cage, where the lemurs stare back at their wet faces with amber eyes.

Olivia had hoped for a break in the rain despite the forecast, but it's still pouring when they emerge from the pavilion.

"Guess we should take that as a sign," Lincoln says, and they race back to the car. Olivia had forgotten to tuck an umbrella in the back, but she does have a towel that they share, wiping up just enough so that she can see to drive without water dripping into her eyes.

She feels badly about having their plan cut short, but Lincoln seems to catch her thought and touches her shoulder. "Hey, this just means I spend more time with you, no distractions. I'm not sad about that."

\--and again, she has to swallow against a sudden lump in her throat. Olivia takes his hand, briefly pressing it to her cheek, before she turns her attention back to the road.

They're still wet when they arrive back at her apartment, so the obvious solution to get wetter still. Olivia's never had cause to test the capacity of her hot water heater but her shower holds out long enough for both of them to feel warm again, and then even warmer as Lincoln proves he's thoroughly recovered from the morning. Olivia finds herself pressed against the shower wall, one leg hooked around Lincoln's back and trembling for balance as they strain against each other, skin greedy against skin. A misplaced bit of soap ends up underfoot, and they forestall an unfortunate mishap with a controlled collapse to the floor. A little bit of rearrangement and Olivia ends up in his lap while their hands do the rest of the work, laughing with him while the water rains down.

They finish just as the shower starts to cool. Lincoln towels off and throws himself across her bed, face down, and Olivia pauses scrubbing at her hair just to appreciate the sight. He's a work of art, really, and it would be rude not to stop and admire.

Olivia kneels next to him, running her fingers over his left shoulder blade and the small Fringe Division symbol there. Her hand skates down his back, stopping to trace the larger tattoo on the curve of his lower spine. It's a Japanese kanji, but Liv's memories are fading from Olivia's mind and she doesn't recall everything. "Remind me what this means?"

"Perseverance." His breathing is a little fast, measured.

Her fingers follow the lines, admire the delicate strokes. "I like it." Liv and Frank have matching tattoos (or at least, she assumes Liv had hers redone after her mission here). Olivia's borrowed version is gone now, but she suddenly finds herself wanting a memento. "Do you-- would you mind if I got one too?"

Olivia knows that the gesture is dangerous, she knows what it's implying, but she's been cautious all her life and now she just wants something to hold on to. A tangible reminder of what she's found with this man from another place, however fleeting their time turns out to be.

Lincoln's gone still beneath her hand. "I'm sorry, if that's inappropriate...."

"No, I..." His voice sounds choked, muffled in the pillow. "I'd like that."

She leans down, her lips near his ear. "The next time I'm on your side. I don't like needles. Lincoln...I want to remember you."

"Olivia." Just her name on a breath, and though he's trying to bury his face, she can see that his eyes are wet.

"Shhhh." She runs her hands over his skin, gentling. It's not fair, she knows. He was already head-over-heels for his Olivia, and she's only complicating the issue. But being aware of that fact doesn't make her need any less. "We'll...talk about that later. Right now I just-- I just want to be happy. While we can."

He nods blindly, and she feels him take a long, shuddering breath.

They both need a moment, she recognizes. With a final caress and a "be right back" Olivia grabs her robe and wanders, a little dazed, into the kitchen. She'd only meant to get a glass of water but finds herself staring down into the sink, contemplative. Her body is...loose, satiated, and she feels more comfortable in her own skin than she has in a long time. Since John, at least. Her mind is less settled, veering between the utter certainty that she's made the right choice and a vague unease that...is harder to define.

She hears a sound and turns to see Lincoln in the living room, wearing a pair of faded sweatpants and looking through her small stack of DVDs. He's turning them over one by one, reading the text on the backs. He stops and stares at one, then turns to her. " _The Maltese Falcon_ , starring Humphrey Bogart. If I ever doubted which side I was on...in my world, this was Cary Grant."

It's a signal, clearly, to take whatever just happened between them and shelve it for the moment. It's not forgotten, merely...brewing. "That was Bogart's breakout role."

"Really. Huh." He glances down at the cover again. "You want to watch it?"

"For the eight hundredth time? Twist my arm," she says smiling, and puts the disc in. "But wait, don't you need to start dinner? Doesn't it take a long time to make?"

Lincoln snorts. "Only if you want it dry and stringy. Less than an hour and a half. But that reminds me." He pads into the kitchen and takes the package out of the fridge, laying it down on a cutting board. "Needs to come to room temp before I start it." He grins to her skeptical look. "No salmonella, I promise. I haven't killed anyone yet."

"Yet," Olivia says dryly, but she's already trusted him with so much that this barely rates a thought.

They watch the movie, curled up together, Lincoln mouthing lines and shaking his head at the differences in delivery between the version he knows and this one. "So strange. I'll never see it the same way again."

When the movie's done Lincoln starts assembling dinner, a process that looks as arcane to Olivia as any of Walter's experiments. She didn't even know she owned that many pans, but in short order the bird is in and the vegetables are prepped and there's nothing to do but wait. Lincoln spots the scrabble board Ella left behind and they play, making up nonsense words that absolutely, positively must be valid even if they don't exist in the other's universe. Lincoln wins because Olivia has a dictionary he can check and she can't do the same.

By the time Lincoln starts putting the rest of dinner together, the smell coming out of the oven is actually making her salivate. Olivia hovers over his shoulder as he takes the pan out and gets a slapped hand when she tries to steal a piece early. "Let it rest! Go set the table or something."

Olivia sticks her tongue out at him and he grins. "Not unless you're planning to use that."

"Later," she says, and fishes out the plates.

Finally Lincoln calls it all done and they sit down to eat. Olivia finds herself pausing between each bite, astonished. "The chicken is amazing...but how do you make *rice* taste good?"

Lincoln shakes his head at her. "Cook in stock, not water. Add herbs. It's not hard, Olivia."

"Says you," she mutters. He's made roasted corn and carrots to go with dinner and yes, she supposes that's simple enough, but Olivia also knows that without any other incentive she's apt to go back to cold cereal habits.

There's plenty of leftovers and they pack up everything, Lincoln even writing reheating instructions on post-it notes. When the kitchen is set to order again there's a brief pause, a silence that threatens to turn maudlin, before Lincoln says, "I'm pretty sure you have a local favorite bar."

She does, and it's even within walking distance, although Olivia is usually mindful enough of her badge and position not to abuse its proximity. The rain's let up, another sign from the universe about where it wants them to be. Olivia waves to the bartender as they come in. Carl's already reaching for a tumbler when he sees her visitor; he gestures with the whiskey bottle, a question, and Olivia nods.

Carl lines them up and Olivia and Lincoln do a quick shot, then a slower one. Lincoln calls a halt first--he's a lightweight, he admits, doesn't drink that often because he's essentially always on call, especially now that he's stepped into Broyles' shoes. (They pause to salute the fallen colonel with another fast shot.) Liv doesn't drink at all; Charlie hits the bottle hard on occasion, maybe a little too hard, although it never seems to slow him down.

They trade whiskey for beer (this is Boston, it's Sam Adams) and find a dark table. She and Lincoln sip in companionable silence until he leans over and murmurs, "So did you think about it?"

She's buzzed enough that she doesn't immediately follow. "Hmmm?"

"What you might like. Something different, before-- before tomorrow."

He doesn't say "before I leave" and Olivia's thankful for that, but now she's flashing back to their conversation from this morning. She flushes a little and scoots her chair closer to him, letting her hair fall to hide her face from the rest of the room. "Well, what *is* kinky, anyway?"

"Kinky is the whole chicken," he quips and they both laugh, because yeah, she's heard that one before and walked right into it. He takes her hand, fingers lacing with hers. "But...let's see."

He goes on, his voice low and even. "Let's skip the whole scatological category, that's not my thing. D/s games are fun, but I should warn you, I'm a lousy dom. Get distracted too easily. You'd be good at it, though."

Might or might not be true, Olivia thinks, but the last thing she wants right now is to take on more responsibility. "File it for now."

Lincoln grins. "I'm great at the other part, if you change your mind. Bondage--"

"I don't like being tied up," Olivia says quickly, and Lincoln nods.

"No, I wouldn't think so." His thumb rubs up and down the center of her palm. "Have you ever been spanked?"

Her face is burning now, and she ducks her head lower. "What, no, I--"

Lincoln shakes his head. "Not to hurt. Just to get the skin pink, flushed and sensitive to the touch of a feather, or a tongue...."

Olivia hears herself *squeak* and grabs for her glass to cover it, but Lincoln's eyes are shining.

"Oh, Olivia," he says, dreamily. "I bet you've never really had a lover go to town on your ass. You'd love it, I promise."

This *conversation,* she can't believe they're even having it, never mind in a public place. Her underwear feels too tight and the seam of her jeans is pressing in the wrong place, or maybe the right place. "Okay," she whispers almost too low to hear, and then, "What else?"

His fingers are resting over her wrist. "Your pulse is racing. You know, in my world, there are places where I could pull you right up onto this table and take you. People would cheer."

She laughs, low and breathy, grateful for the absurd idea as a break from the images her mind is conjuring. "Doesn't work here."

"Mmm. A threesome you've already done, by proxy." Lincoln's hand strokes over her arm. "Not likely here either, unless you want to call up that pretty Astrid or my double." There's enough teasing in his voice that she knows he's not serious, or at least, not much. "But I haven't even *begun* to map all the places that make you gasp, or--"

"Okay!" she says, and it's a more challenging effort than it should be to peel herself out of the chair. "Let's-- let's get on that, then."

Lincoln laughs and follows. Olivia catches Carl staring at her and wonders if she's ruined her reputation forever in this bar, but she's too flushed and hurried to care. She needs to remember to never bring Lee here, if nothing else.

They get a block or two from the bar when Olivia turns suddenly and *pushes* so that Lincoln stumbles into a narrow alley. She crowds in, shoving him against the brick wall. She leans in and kisses him hard but she can't get enough of his taste, she can't--

Olivia pulls back to see Lincoln dragging his shirt and jacket away from his neck. "Here. Go on."

She stares at him, uncomprehending, and then lunges forward to fasten her mouth on his skin, wanting to raise the blood underneath, wanting to mark him.

The sound of a car backfiring in the street startles her and Olivia pulls away. Her night vision has always been good and she can see the bruise she's raised, and the imprint of her teeth on his skin. "God, Lincoln, I'm sorry."

"Are you kidding? That was perfect." His eyes look a little glassy in the dim light as he reaches up to rub at the spot, hard, and she sees his whole body shudder. "You're going to do that again. I like it when you use your teeth."

"I don't want to hurt you," she says, low, and Lincoln shakes his head.

"You won't. I won't let you. More important, you won't let yourself. I trust you."

"I-- I trust you, too," she says, and it's as close as she can get, right now, to anything more.

They make it back to her apartment, somehow.

Neither of them get much sleep.

***

The next morning is the end of their liberty and she has to think about getting back to work. Olivia has something to check up on--a face in her dreams she can't place, it's been nagging at her--and Lincoln needs to get back to running his division.

They're about to head out when Olivia recalls a random thought from the day before. "Hang on, one minute." She goes back into the bedroom and rummages deep in the closet; despite the recent change in weather, she hasn't pulled out the winter linens yet. When she comes back out, she's holding a bulky gray piece of fabric.

"I know you said you'd have to think about passing materials between worlds but-- you could say this was an heirloom, maybe. I remembered about the sheep," she says, a little diffidently, because what kind of a silly gift to a lover is a wool blanket? But Lincoln's eyes light up when he sees it, and his touch when he runs his hand over the fabric is almost reverent.

"That's beautiful. And useful. You're sure you want me to take it?"

"Please," she says, and he kisses her again, one final time.

When they get outside Lincoln swings into the car, wincing a little, and Olivia smiles as she thinks of the dark, deep bruise she put on his hip. He's going to be feeling that for *days,* she thinks, and something in her lizard brain roars in delight.

The trip back to the island passes in silence, neither of them wanting to break the spell of the last three days. She feels good, Olivia realizes, and that comes as something of a shock. No matter what happens next, she wouldn't have traded this time for anything.

She and Lincoln revert to professional mode once they enter the complex, given the cameras tracking every motion and sound. They pass through security and decontamination and all too quickly they're in the bridge room again, and he's leaving.

"See you soon," Lincoln says with a smile before he goes through the portal to his world, and Olivia can only hope it's a promise that can be kept.

**Author's Note:**

>  _time on my hands could be time spent with you  
>  laughing like children, living like lovers  
> rolling like thunder under the covers  
> and I guess that's why they call it the blues  
> _  
> \--Elton John
> 
> I had to restructure this fic entirely when I remembered to account for the fact that a trip between Liberty Island and Boston takes four hours or more. I think the show assumes an unrevealed tesseract. :p (And then I got paranoid and rechecked all my other fic for similar bugs; "Reflection" will get a minor edit to reflect travel time, because I am just that obsessive.)
> 
> Many thanks to my buddy miss_porcupine, proud native New Yorker, for vetting and approval on the WTC scene.
> 
> Attribution for a stunning turn of phrase that is not mine: [In the Shadow of No Towers](http://www.amazon.com/Shadow-No-Towers-Art-Spiegelman/dp/0375423079) by Art Spiegelman.
> 
> Research: [Franklin Park Zoo map.](http://www.zoonewengland.org/view.image?Id=1763)
> 
> Olivia is a hoopy frood who always knows where her towel is.
> 
> Roast chicken: many versions, but [Thomas Keller's recipe](http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/My-Favorite-Simple-Roast-Chicken-231348) is a sure bet.


End file.
